with his eloquence. and then, beyond the reflecting pool, the dignified columns of the lincoln memorial. whoever would understand in his heart the meaning of america will find it in the life of abraham lincoln. beyond those monuments to heroism is the potomac river, and on the far shore the sloping hills of arlington national cemetery, with its row upon row of simple white markers bearing crosses or stars of david. they add up to only a tiny fraction of the price that has been paid for our freedom. each one of those markers is a monument to the kind of hero i spoke of earlier. their lives ended in places called belleau wood, the argonne, omaha beach, salerno, and halfway around the world on guadalcanal, tarawa, pork chop hill, the chosin reservoir, and in a hundred rice paddies and jungles of a place called vietnam. under one such marker lies a young man, martin treptow, who left his job in a small town barbershop in 1917 to go to france with the famed rainbow division. there, on the western front, he was killed trying to carry a message between battalions under heavy artillery fire. we
